The parcel in the rain

An original fiction passage set in the nineteenth century.

The rain had begun before the village post office opened. Tom was hurrying home with a loaf beneath his coat when he saw Mrs Bell at the gate. Two parcels rested on the wet ground beside her, their paper darkening at the corners. She was trying to lift one while keeping the other from sliding into the road.

“I can manage,” she said, though the parcel tipped against her knee. Tom put down the loaf and picked it up. It was heavier than he expected. Mrs Bell watched him closely as he carried it beneath the shop awning.

“You will be late,” she said. Tom glanced towards the lane. His mother had asked him to be back before the oven was lit. He could still get home quickly if he left the other parcel where it lay. Instead, he returned to the gate and brought that one across too. A cart passed, sending a sheet of water over the stones where it had been.

Mrs Bell thanked him, then looked at the loaf, now spotted with rain. Tom brushed it with his sleeve. “It can be warmed,” he said. She offered him a coin, but he shook his head and started towards home.

At the lane’s end, he looked back. Mrs Bell had carried the parcels inside, and was standing in the doorway with the dry shawl she had meant to take to her sister. Tom turned towards home again, walking faster. The bread would be late, but it was not lost.